


Cuddles and Confessions

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drunken Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Um, so this isn’t what it looks like?” Stark began, his eyes drifting to the door behind Phil.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Phil frowned.  What was Stark playing at?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, it is,” Clint countered, his voice husky, but his words were surprisingly unslurred.  “It’s exactly what it looks like.”  He gave an exaggerated nod.  “The tequila -- and evil, evil Natasha -- made us do it.”</em>
</p><p>Sick of Phil and Clint's constant pining, Pepper and Natasha plot to get Clint drunk enough to confess.  Thankfully, the next morning goes a little better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuddles and Confessions

Phil Coulson jerked awake.  For a second, he tried to figure out what had dragged him from sleep.  The room around him was deceptively silent.  Since he was staying at Stark Tower, Phil could just ask JARVIS, but his instincts were warning him to stay quiet.  The Tower had some of the best security in the world.  If there was any danger, it probably wasn’t going to involve bullets, bombs or other dangerous projectiles.  JARVIS usually said something about those.

Which left only one other option.

Stark.

Listening to the darkness, Phil tried to work out if he was just dealing with Stark’s singular insanity.  Or if Stark had roped anyone else into his shenanigans.  Phil hoped vainly that Stark was just coming to annoy him about some grand plan for new rocket boosters or exploding pens.  Unfortunately, the sinking sensation in his stomach was telling Phil he wasn’t that lucky.

A muffled curse had Phil’s gaze shooting to the door.  As his suspicion became downright paranoia, Phil slid from his bed.  He padded towards the door to the small living area -- and the cursing -- his bare feet silent on the plush carpet.  A second later, a soft giggle had Phil almost groaning out loud.

Stark was definitely in there.

And worse, Stark was either very sleep deprived, or very drunk.  Possibly both.

“Shit, where’s the damn door?” Stark’s whisper hissed out of the darkness.

“I believe it is to your left,” Thor replied, not very quietly at all.

Phil grimaced.  Stark brought company, and they were all drunk, weren’t they?

Not wanting to be the brunt of whatever prank Stark had cooked up, Phil braced himself for the coming scuffle.  He flicked on the light, blinding both himself and his unwanted guests for a moment.  “Does anyone wish to tell me what’s going on?” he snapped, not quite able to hold back his grumpiness.

Blinking, Phil had about half a second to realize that it wasn’t just Stark and Thor invading his space.  Then the distinct lack of clothing registered in his tired brain.  Or more specifically, _Clint Barton’s_ lack of clothing.  Clint was standing right in front of Phil, frozen in his tracks.  His eyes were startlingly wide, and he was clad only in a very tight pair of purple boxer-briefs.  Phil was vaguely aware that Stark and Thor were also only wearing boxers.  He was too busy trying to pry his suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth.  This was hardly the first time Phil had ever seen Clint partially undressed, but all the other times had involved bullets and/or copious amounts of blood.  Phil had never been allowed to simply look.  Phil’s eyes slid over the tanned skin of Clint’s solidly muscled chest, dipping down to trace over his abs.  Swallowing, Phil was captivated by the dark lines of Clint’s tattoo.  It stretched up from Clint’s hip to the bottom of his ribcage on Clint’s left side.  The abstract lines of a hawk in flight looked amazing against Clint’s skin.  The contrast of the ink against Clint’s skin made something in Phil’s stomach clench.

Without his permission, Phil’s feet took a step forward.  Then he blinked again, fighting a blush as he remembered he and Clint were not alone.

“Um, so this isn’t what it looks like?” Stark began, his eyes drifting to the door behind Phil.

Phil frowned.  What was Stark playing at?

“Yes, it is,” Clint countered, his voice husky, but his words were surprisingly unslurred.  “It’s exactly what it looks like.”  He gave an exaggerated nod.  “The tequila -- and evil, evil Natasha -- made us do it.”

Phil bit back a tired sigh.  “Made you do what?” he asked.

“Nay, mighty Hawk,” Thor said.  “It was not just the tequila.  There was vodka as well.  And the sneaky Lady Pepper.”

“She is sneaky!” Stark added.  “Sneaky, sneaky Pepper.  She fed us tequila and then our clothes fell off.”  He paused, narrowing his eyes at Phil.  “Also, can we discuss how Agent Agent doesn’t actually sleep in suits?  Or plaid pajamas?”

This time, Phil gave in to the impulse and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Not that it would actually fight off his sudden headache.  “That’s not a proper explanation.  I ask again:  made you do what?”

“Well, sir,” Clint said helpfully.  “There’s a middle bit in there somewhere that explains the underwear and Natasha’s evilness, but the tequila made me forget it.”

Phil sighed.  “Okay.  What is it going to take to make you all go to bed?”

The giggles that erupted from Stark were terrifying.  “Clint has to sleep with you!” he announced.

Phil coughed, his breath somehow getting caught in his lungs.  “Um… what?”

“It is true, Son of Coul,” Thor replied, nodding.  “The Lady Pepper and the Widow insist that you cease your pining for each other.  They do not wish to listen to your woes any longer.”

Phil’s face felt as if it was on fire.  “They did?” he asked weakly.

“Hey!” Stark said.  “Is that why our clothes fell off?”

Closing his eyes, Phil wondered if Thor, Stark and Clint were drunk enough not to remember this in the morning.  “JARVIS, could you ask Pepper and Natasha to come down here, please?” he said.

“Of course, Agent Coulson,” JARVIS replied.  “And I am sorry for the interruption, but Ms Potts was… insistent.”

“It’s okay, JARVIS,” Phil replied.  His friends meant well.   Probably.

Two minutes later, Pepper and Natasha arrived, both wearing smug smirks.  “Pepper!” Stark yelled immediately, staggering over to wrap his arms around her.  It was strangely endearing in a chaotic, insane sort of way.

“I suppose you have a reason for this?” Phil asked, waving his hands at the three drunk Avengers.

Natasha shrugged.  “We’re sick of the pining,” she said.

“We are,” Pepper confirmed.  “Although, I suppose it was actually too much to hope that Stark and Thor would actually manage to get Clint _into_ your bedroom.”

“My… what?” Phil said.  “He’s drunk!”

“Yes,” Natasha agreed.  “And when Clint is drunk, he turns into a cuddly octopus.”  She gave him a pointed look.  “You would never take advantage of him, Phil.  But I thought you might _actually_ have to have a conversation when you both woke up.”

“Um…”  While Phil was struggling to find an answer to that, Pepper and Natasha efficiently herded Thor and Stark out of the guest room, leaving Phil alone with Clint.  Silently, Phil stared at his asset, and watched Clint stare back.

Now what?

~*~

Clint wondered drunkenly if kissing Phil would get him in trouble.   _Probably_ _._  But maybe not for disciplinary reasons.  Phil technically wasn’t his handler anymore.

No, the trouble with kissing Phil would be the stopping afterwards.

Phil Coulson was like, the _perfect_ man.  Or at least, perfect for Clint.  Gossip around SHIELD made him sound superhuman, but Clint knew first hand just how ordinarily human Phil was.  Well, maybe not ordinary, but he bled and hurt and cried just like everyone else.  And his smile, the one that reached his amazing eyes, was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.  It made Clint feel warm and tingly all over, and he always had to squash down the urge to walk over and wrap himself in Phil forever.

Having been asleep when they’d interrupted him, Phil was still only wearing a low slung pair of sweatpants.  Clint couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing over the solid muscles and old scars on display.  Phil had always been handsome, but it was his kindness as much as his intelligence that had made Clint fall in love with him.

“Clint?” Phil asked, strangely hesitant.

“Hi, Phil,” Clint replied.  It wasn’t the most intelligent thing Clint had ever said, but he was blaming Natasha for that.  “I mean, sorry for waking you up?”

Phil shrugged, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  “Well, it’s hardly the first time,” he said dryly.  “Are you okay?  Do you need help getting back to your room?”

Clint opened his mouth.  Part of his brain was insisting that Clint say no.  He could just stagger back himself, or to the nearest couch.  But a voice that sounded suspiciously like Natasha’s was telling him that maybe he should just take the chance.  “Can I stay and cuddle with you?” he asked, the Natasha-voice clearly having taken control of his mouth.

Phil hesitated again, and Clint wanted to smack himself in the face.  Why the hell had he asked that?  “Nevermind,” he said hurriedly.  “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure you want to?” Phil said quietly.

“Phil,” Clint said, deciding what the hell.  “I’ve wanted to kiss you and take you out for one of those ridiculous coffees for _years_.”

“Oh.”  Phil’s cheeks flushed, but the smile that spread across his face was soft, and undeniably happy.  “Me too.”

Clint squinted, because Phil couldn’t possibly mean what Clint was hoping he meant.  Except, Phil’s smile was still all soft at the edges.  It was making Clint’s thoughts very, very blurry.  Sort of like staring at the sun out of the corner of your eye, because it was kind of blinding, but Clint couldn’t stop looking either.  The tequila still swimming around in his veins was making it difficult to think.  As was Phil’s continued half-nakedness.  Phil had surprisingly lickable collarbones.  Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever had a fascination with someone’s collarbones before Phil.  Except Clint probably shouldn’t be surprised considering what else of Phil’s he wanted to lick.

“Clint?”

Clint blinked, because when had Phil gotten so close?  He could see the specks of brown in Phil’s eyes from here.  They were such pretty eyes.

Right.  Staring was creepy.

“Phil?” he replied.

Phil smiled fondly and shook his head.  “Come on,” he said.  “Let’s get you comfortable so you can sleep this off.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed easily.  He let Phil tug him in the direction of the bedroom, because any plan that led to him sharing a bed with Phil was a-okay with Clint.  “Does this mean we can cuddle?”

Chuckling, Phil glanced back at Clint.  “Yes, we can cuddle,” he agreed.

“Awesome,” Clint said.

His head spinning slightly, Clint flopped down onto Phil’s rumpled bed, immediately snuggling into the faint trace of warmth left behind.  With a huff, Phil poked him until Clint rolled over with a grunt.  Now that he was lying down on the bed, and the world has stopped spinning quite so much, Clint was getting really sleepy.  “Phil,” he said pitifully.

“I’m here,” Phil whispered back.  Suddenly strong arms were tentatively wrapping themselves around Clint.  Clint sighed happily, cuddling closer to Phil’s solid warmth and burying his face in the gap between Phil’s neck and shoulder.  He wrapped his arms as best as he could around Phil’s waist and chest, just in case Phil decided to go anywhere.

His last thought before he drifted off was that he wanted every night to end like this.

~*~

From the sound of the groan echoing out of Phil’s borrowed bedroom, Clint was awake.  He also seemed to be really regretting the tequila from the previous night.  Phil was sympathetic.  Natasha had gotten him drunk before, and he remembered how much it hurt.  But Phil was also hesitant to face down his asset now that the cold light of morning had hit.  Phil had woken up with Clint still wrapped around him like a very handsy octopus.  Just for a moment, Phil had closed his eyes and savoured the feeling.  Then common sense had reasserted itself, and Phil had forced himself to leave the nest of blankets Clint had wrapped around them both.  When he relaxed, Clint was a tactile person, particularly with those he trusted.  Clint’s need to cuddle could easily be explained by the alcohol lowering his inhibitions.  If it had just been Clint behind the events of the night before, Phil might even have believed that.

Gathering up his courage, Phil fixed a bland expression on his face and headed for the bedroom with Tylenol and a glass of water.  Clint was sprawled out among the sheets, his head buried under a pillow.  The soft morning light had turned the skin of his muscled back golden.  “Clint?” Phil said softly.

Clint uttered another muffled groan, before emerging from underneath the pillow.  His eyes were narrowed slits of blue, and his hair was flattened on one side of his head and sticking up in rumpled spikes on the other.

“Here,” Phil offered softly, holding out the water and painkillers.

“Fuck me,” Clint hissed.  “What happened to my head?”

Phil couldn’t quite hold back his smile.  “Large amounts of tequila, apparently,” he replied dryly, carefully helping Clint hold the glass.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Phil waited for Clint's inevitable realization.  “Fuck… _Phil_?” Clint muttered.  He attempted to sit up and open his eyes, which just resulted in another loud and tortured moan as the hangover hit him full force.  Sagging back to the bed, Clint attempted to smother himself with a pillow.

“It’s me,” Phil replied.

“Um… I can explain?” Clint offered, peering out from underneath the pillow again.

Phil let out a breath.  “Okay,” he agreed.

When Clint stayed silent instead of saying anything, Phil took a deep breath and told himself to stop being a coward.  “This explanation… does it start with you talking to Natasha about certain feelings?  Feelings you didn’t want to talk about with anyone else?” Phil said quietly.  “The same feelings that then prompted her to get you drunk and persuade Tony and Thor to escort you to my room?”

Phil watched Clint’s throat bob as he swallowed heavily.  “Maybe,” Clint conceded.

“All while Pepper was being unusually enthusiastic in her encouragement?” Phil added.  If Clint was guilty of talking to Natasha about his feelings, then Phil was doubly guilty of talking to Pepper about _his_.

That seemed to confuse Clint.  “Wait, what?” he said, sitting up again, this time far more slowly.  “I mean, I remember Pepper was there… and actually, come to think of it, she and Natasha were giggling a lot.”

Phil took another deep breath.  “You know all that confessing to Natasha you might or might not have been doing?” he said.  “Well, I’ve definitely been confessing things to Pepper.  I think she finally decided to do something about them.”

Clint blinked, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.  “Um… I’m lost,” he said, but the bright spark of hope was growing in his eyes.  “Maybe you could explain it again to me?  Using small words?  Just so I understand.”

Okay.  Phil could do that.

He turned so that he could look Clint directly in the eye.  No matter what happened, Clint deserved that.  “I love you, Clint,” he said, clenching his hands into fists so that Clint wouldn’t see how much they were shaking.  “I’m _in_ love with you.  I have been for a while, and I was wondering if… dating me is something you would be interested in?”

Clint opened and shut his mouth a few times, his eyes wide.  “Really?” he said incredulously.  Then he flushed bright pink.  “I mean, you want to go out with me?  Like, take me out to dinner?”

Phil nodded, a twinge of pain going through his heart at the disbelief in Clint’s voice.  “I would,” he agreed.  “Very much.”

“Okay,” Clint said, his voice rough.  “That sounds… yeah.  Please?”  He shrugged, glancing up at Phil shyly.  “Also, I feel like I should tell you that I really, _really_ want to kiss you right now, but I think I should probably brush my teeth first.”

Phil chuckled softly.  “Probably a good idea,” he agreed.

“Okay.  Good,” Clint said.  He started climbing out of the bed, before cursing softly and lifting a hand to his head.

“Take your time,” Phil told him, biting back another fond laugh.  “I’ll go put on a pot of coffee.”

Clint groaned.  “Yes.  Thank you,” he muttered.

Biting his lip, Phil decided now would be a good moment to leave before he leaned over and kissed Clint anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, Clint staggered out of the bathroom looking a whole lot more human.  He was also only wearing a towel.  Phil clenched his hands around his coffee mug.  Swallowing, he tried to keep his gaze from following the water droplets sliding down Clint’s impressively muscled chest.

“Umm, sorry,” Clint muttered, ducking his head and grasping the edge of the towel tightly.  “But, uh… could I borrow some pants?”

Phil nodded, feeling his own cheeks heat as he glanced up into Clint’s eyes to find Clint watching him.  “Of course.  There’s a second pair in the bag on the floor of the wardrobe,” he said.

Clint retreated again, returning a minute later in a pair of Phil’s sweatpants and a t-shirt that stretched tightly across his shoulders and arms.  “So…” Clint drawled, hesitating but the small kitchen counter.  Reaching up, he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Coffee?” Phil offered him, not really sure what to do either.

“I like coffee,” Clint agreed.

Snorting, Phil had to laugh.  They were both highly trained and exceptionally skilled SHIELD agents, but right now they were acting like a pair of teenagers.  “Sorry,” he said when he caught Clint watching him curiously.  “I just promised myself that if I ever said anything about how I felt, I’d try to be smooth about it.”

Clint grinned.  “Yeah, I get that,” he replied.  Stepping forward, he moved slowly into Phil’s space.  Taking the mug from Phil’s unresisting fingers, Clint set it on the counter.  “You know, I realized I didn’t say it before, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.”

“Oh.”  Phil grinned.  “I hoped that might be the case, but I didn’t want to assume.”

Shaking his head, Clint chuckled.  He wrapped his strong arms around Phil’s waist, and Phil lost himself in the swirling colours of Clint’s eyes for a moment.  Leaning in, Clint pressed his lips gently to Phil’s.  The kiss was soft and sweet at first, but it slowly deepened as Clint leaned more of his solid weight against Phil.  Phil sucked in a breath as the sensation, parting his lips further as Clint took advantage of his distraction.  By the time Clint finally pulled back, Phil had wound one hand into Clint’s hair and the other was caught underneath Clint’s t-shirt.  “So,” Clint said, leaning in to nuzzle at Phil’s jaw.  “I’m guessing from the sweatpants you’re still wearing, you don’t have anywhere to be this morning?”

“Nowhere particularly important,” Phil replied.  “It’s Saturday.”

Clint’s smirk was dangerous, and send a spark of want skittering down Phil’s spine.  “How about that,” Clint said, grabbing Phil by the front of his t-shirt and pulling him back in the direction of the bedroom.  “I’m sure we could think of something to keep us occupied, right?  Just so we don’t get bored.”

Phil shook his head.  “Trouble,” he said, reeling Clint in for another kiss.  “You’re going to be so much trouble.”

“Yeah, but I’m your trouble now,” Clint muttered against Phil’s lips.

“Yes,” Phil agreed happily.  “You are.”

 ****  
End.


End file.
